


Running Out of Time

by Kaidan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-05
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 10:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/709685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaidan/pseuds/Kaidan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 2011, Jackson Whittemore starts wondering not for the first time about his biological parents. In 2019, Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale begin a search to find their son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Consider this as a non-controlled experiment to gather opinions. (Better stated as: I want to know if this is worth pursuing further.) Started filling on tnw_kinkmeme@LJ before realizing [the prompt](http://tnw-kinkmeme.livejournal.com/2665.html?thread=98921#t98921) was posted a month before I acted on it. Oops.
> 
> More or less a prologue so nothing to really tag for right now. Subject to change.

_“Derek!”_

_The hysterical note in the younger male’s voice couldn’t have been more obvious, even to a non-supernatural being that couldn’t smell the panic and anger rolling off Stiles Stilinski in tsunami-sized waves. Coupled with the suspicious lack of the baby-powder scent had become familiar only hours before, Derek knew something was very, very wrong._

_“Where’s the–?”_

_“They took him! They – they did something – he’s gone! They took him and just spirited him away somewhere and – and we’re never going to see him again – I’m going to kill them, I’m going to fucking kill them all and–”_

_“Stiles!” The larger male took hold of the other, giving him the slightest of shakes, earning what could only be described as a hysterical yip and whiskey colored eyes locked on hazel. The resident scowl on Derek Hale’s face only grew deeper as he pulled his partner into his arms, squeezing him tightly._

_“They took him… I couldn’t protect him… I can’t… I can’t breathe, Derek.”_

_“Yes you can.”_

_“They took him.  Sent him away–I don’t know where–”_

_“We’ll get him back, Stiles.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Jackson Whittemore wasn’t oblivious. He wasn’t stupid, and he certainly wasn’t an idiot. He knew he was adopted. He’d known it for as long as he could remember. Apparently he accused his father of not being his _real_ father, and well… the road to enlightenment starts young these days.

The point was, Jackson had no illusions about his roots. He had questions sure, what adopted kid didn’t? His parents told him his _real_ parents died in a car crash prior to his birth, but there was a suspicious lack of information given to him other than that. Yet he never found himself questioning that too much either. At sixteen, he had more important things to consider other than who put what where and squeezed him out nine months later. Like the fact he was the captain of the high school lacrosse team. Like being the trophy boyfriend of the frighteningly beautiful (and, Jackson suspected, terrifyingly brilliant) Lydia Martin.

Sometimes though, when he was zoning out during chemistry ( _God_ was Harris _trying_ to bore them to death?) he’d wonder. He couldn’t help it. It was a nagging feeling, a curiosity. What were they like, what kind of people were they? Who did he look more like, his mother or father?

Blue eyes zeroed in on Stilinski, sitting at the table just in front of himself and Danny Mahaelani. The spaz was flailing his arms around and talking in stage whispers to his butt-partner in crime, Scott freakin’ McCall. Jackson never paid too much attention to either of them usually. Too-Weird-For-A-First-Name Stilinski had made eyes at Jackson’s girlfriend for years and McCall well… he had asthma. They were Beacon Hills High’s personal bench warmers and that was about it. Why was he looking at them again? Suddenly feeling the urge to blink, Jackson shifted in his seat and returned his attention to the paper in front of him. He had more important things to think about, right?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was met with a positive review, and that's pretty cool. I definitely wasn't expecting it. So I'm gonna roll with it.

“I still can’t believe you lost him!”

Derek Hale was ass deep in text books, and he had one hell of a headache right now.

“Like I said before, I didn’t _lose_ him, Erica, he was stolen! Stolen! In case you don’t know what that means, let me tell you –”

It had been a week since the two had lost their son. It ached in ways Derek related to all too well. He’d known the pain of losing family three times over, and losing his son had left a taste in his mouth that nauseated the alpha. He’d taken to speaking even less than he normally did, while Stiles threw the whole lot of them into research. That was just how Stiles was and Derek loved him for it. Stiles had to learn everything he could about something; he had to understand every possible angle of the thing before putting his head together with Lydia Martin and the two of them coming up with some devastatingly brilliant solution to whatever problem they happened to be faced with at the time.

Without fail, the moment Stiles had collected himself from his breakdown (with due help from an impromptu not-so-much-puppies-anymore puppy-pile), he’d began barking orders; Scott was sent to consult with Deaton, Allison to her father and his hunters, Peter off to conduct his own research while Isaac and Boyd were sent to comb the area for any sign of the threat that had turned all their lives upside down. This left Derek and Erica to substitute for Lydia and assist the riled up male with his research, which wasn’t going accordingly at the moment.

Derek was pulled from his thoughts in time to watch as Erica rounded on Stiles, looking livid as her eyes flashed gold in warning. “I’m not an idiot, Stiles! You on the other hand–” Did Derek mention he had a headache? “– _you_ are the one that let them take off with our baby!”

Stiles practically shrieked at her as he stood, the textbook in his lap toppling off and making a dull thud on the hardwood beneath him. He jabbed a slender, bony finger at the blonde’s chest, and Derek could almost swear those amber eyes were flashing dangerously at Derek’s beta. “–is not yours!” he was saying, jabbing Erica rather rudely, as if intent on stabbing her through the heart with his index finger. His rough tone quickly turned to one of pain as his knees buckled; Erica’s manicured hand was now wrapped around said index finger, bending it in ways human fingers should not be allowed to bend.

“Yes, we all know he’s the fruit of yours and Derek’s _eternal love_ or whatever, but you still lost your kid to a god damn witch–” “They _kidnapped_ him!” “–Kidnapped, whatever! I didn’t sacrifice my figure to birth your love child just for you two to go and lose him _the very next day!_ ”

Derek was pretty sure his head was going to explode, and promptly stood. The mountain of books that had collected around him fell with an even maddening louder thump than Stiles’ books had, and both bickering young adults went deathly quiet. The silence was almost as painful as the shouting. Taking a moment to inhale deeply, instantly regretting it as the stressful stench of confusion and blame and the bitter tang of loss assaulted his senses, he let the oxygen pump his lungs before exhaling slowly. Another deep breath, just to brace himself, and he allowed his eyes to open.

Stiles was staring open mouthed at him, and Erica looked sheepish. It didn’t take a werewolf to pick up on Derek’s despair, even if he was trying to keep his calm. It was his job as their alpha to keep a level head. It had become easier, with practice, over the last couple of years, but all of a sudden he was finding it hard to not all out and trash the house, destroying everything in reach. He knew it wouldn’t make him feel any better, and wouldn’t bring his child back – their child. His and _Stiles’_ child _._ The bittersweet correction calmed him further, while simultaneously churning his gut. He heard Stiles shift, drawing his attention to those bony fingers as they withdrew from Erica’s chest, where a bruise surely would have formed if not for the healing. Hefting a sigh, Derek refocused his attention on the two of them, speaking once he was certain his voice wouldn’t break.

“Fighting won’t bring him back, both of you know that.” This earned him identical pained looks, and guilt began to roll off of Erica, who finally stood down and dropped back to her spot on the loveseat, pulling an abandoned text toward her. Stiles on the other hand remained rooted to the spot, his lips slightly parted and eyes wide in that way that told Derek he was feeling a turbulence of emotion that he wasn’t sure what to do with. Before the werewolf could move toward him, Stiles’ went loose limbed again, dropping back to the floor where he’d previously been sat, eyes sweeping over the dumped books to find the one he had his hands on last, acting as if the argument hadn’t just happened.

Derek heaved another sigh, following suit.

 

* * *

 

 

“…practice?”

 _What?_ “What?” King of the lacrosse field and swim team everybody.

Danny with his all his saintly patience and sinfully angelic dimples grinned at his best friend and repeated himself. “I was saying, do you want to come over to my house after practice? Are you okay? You’ve been kind of…” he hesitates, clearly uncertain if he should continue his insinuating statement. Jackson lifts a brow and the other boy continues. “You’re spacing out a lot today. It’s not like you. What’s up?”

Jackson gave a single shouldered shrug, leaning against Danny just slightly. The cafeteria was bustling with students and full of noise, and no one would notice if the infamous Jackson Whittemore leaned on his best friend in a casual manner, and if they did, they wouldn’t care. No one except Jackson would care. He had a thing about that, you know? He didn't need a shoulder to lean on, he was Jackson fucking Whittemore. He didn’t need consoled over his _I’m adopted and I’m thinking about my birth parents out of the blue_ woes. Still, it helped to have that slight bit of reassuring contact, and Danny took it in stride, nudging him with an elbow just before Lydia appeared, as if out of thin air.

“If that mole-ridden buzz-cut talks to me one more time…”

“You’ll ignore him even harder than you have the last ten years?”

Lydia quelled Danny with a menacing stare before wrapping an arm around Jackson’s bicep, leaning her head against him with a fairy princess smile. Jackson reacted accordingly, bowing his head to catch her smirking lips in a kiss that she promptly breaks off, redirecting her attention to Danny to tell him about … something, Jackson doesn’t know. He takes it as his cue to stop listening and lets his eyes roam the cafeteria. It was easy enough to spot what clique where. They always flocked. A knot of lacrosse players here, a cluster of sexually active band geeks there, that loner kid Boyd who Jackson hadn’t spoken to a day in his life – some others he recognized in passing, others he didn’t. 

Flailing limbs and Lydia’s name caught his roaming attention, both limbs and voice belonging to none other than Stilinski. Jackson felt his lip curl in annoyance. He didn’t know what it was about Stilinski – his existence maybe – it just bugged the hell out of Jackson and he was only half-certain it was because the scrawny teen had been madly infatuated with Lydia since they were eight. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jackson had to applaud the guy for hanging on so long. Lydia was definitely worth it; too bad she was taken with Jackson and the jock had no intentions of letting bottom feeders like Stilinski even think they had a chance. As if to reinforce this, he snaked his hand around her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer, refocusing his attention on the conversation going on across him – Danny being on one side, and Lydia on the other.

“…get together and I don’t know, hang out. Bring your boyfriend – we haven’t met him yet. How’s that sound, Jackson?”

“Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Lydia pursed her lips at him but then smiled, continuing on with her plans that Jackson was apparently now a part of “My mom’s gone off to some out-of-town thing; so naturally, we’re all having a sleepover after.”

Something itched at the back of Jackson’s mind and he frowned, dropping his hand from the redhead’s waist as he shook his head, blurting out a gruff “I have plans already,” as he made up his mind on the spot. The look Lydia gave him could have set his hair on fire. You know, if that were possible. He was fairly certain it wasn’t, though.

“No. You’re going out with us tonight, Jackson.” She started slowly, but Jackson shook his head and ignored her incredulous look.

“No I just remembered. I’m – I’ve got something to do at the library…?” The flimsy statement didn’t sound all that convincing even to himself, and he just knew Lydia was going to slap him for this. Instead, she laughed in his face, earning herself a look of confusion from her boyfriend.

Giving him a quick once over, she snorted again, shaking her head as her lips curled up into a smirk. “You? In a library? Yeah, sure. By the way, Danny’s straight!”

“Don’t bring me into this. If he wants to go to the library…”

“We have plans!”

“That you just made.”

Lydia huffed in Danny’s direction, and then redirected her focus on Jackson, who tried to look as haughty and indifferent as he usually appeared as he spoke. “That okay with you? I just have some stuff to do. Then I’ll meet you at your place. Promise.” He knew Lydia didn’t believe him.

“It better be important, whatever you’re doing, if you think it’s worth ditching me for.” With that said she tossed her strawberry blonde hair and stood, flouncing off out of the cafeteria like she ruled the school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to formally apologize for taking the overused "The Witch Did It" route.


	3. Chapter 3

The archives of the Beacon Hills library were in unusually poor condition, as Jackson learned when he found himself standing in front of them, staring with some intimidation at the dusty volumes before he picked up a stack made up of news articles for June of 1995. The handful of news articles felt heavy in his hands, and the dust clung to his skin, sliding from the stack like dead skin off bone. The morbid thought nearly made him drop the articles, and instead he settled on letting them drop to the table in front of him right before he released out hearty sneeze; a sneeze that only further riled up the dust in the air, but a good sneeze nonetheless.

Jackson gazed around for a moment, catching sight of the librarian who was peering at him suspiciously, before turning his back to her and pulling out the table chair. He dropped into the seat and pulled the first article to him. It was something about California being granted land for nuclear waste dumping. The blonde scowled at this and rolled his eyes, pushing it away from him and reaching for another. This time the article was local, some event coverage about the Hale family. This gave Jackson some pause before pushing that away as well. He was hell bent on finding one specific article, and be damned if he didn’t find what he was looking for.

After perusing the articles for what felt like hours – though in all reality was only barely over an hour – the jock found what he was looking for, stuck to the back of an article about the former Sheriff’s retirement and his elected replacement.  He slid the pages out carefully and stared down at them, that bad-boy scowl of his becoming a genuine frown as he read the title.

**_June 14 - Car Crash Kills Gordon Miller and wife_ **

The article was short and to the point, obviously having been nothing front-page news worthy. Creases on the page made it hard to read the words and it’s then that Jackson realized he had a rather harsh grip on the piece of paper, and let it go, flattening it on the table instead. Blue eyes skim the pages for something, anything that would spark whatever it is he was suddenly on the hunt for, but it didn’t satisfy him. The article spoke of the tragedy like some kid knocked over milk. It was impersonal, leaving Jackson with a sour taste in his mouth. He scanned over the title a few more times. The circumstances of his birth had always made him feel conflicted. They died the 14th, but his birthday was the next day. His gut churned and he grit his teeth, finally having had enough with the article and shoving it away yet again.

As if working on a telepathic level with the universe, his phone chose that moment to vibrate in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. Lydia’s message was just as short, and not nearly as sweet

_Be at my house in ten minutes or I am disowning you_

He gave the message a single critical look before returning his phone to his pocket. On a whim he took the article and made for the copy machine before leaving.

 

“Well it’s about time.” Lydia’s tone couldn’t have been more perfectly blended between amused and annoyed. Taking his hand, she tugged him inside and shut the door behind her with a nudge of her heeled foot. Jackson threw her the unreceived critical look that he had given her text earlier which in turn earned him a snooty look of ‘behave or I’ll castrate you.’ It was a patented Lydia Martin look that she had perfected during their 8th year. It was almost exclusively for Jackson’s sights alone.

Danny made his appearance in the hallway, an uncertain smile on his face, dimpling his cheeks. An unfamiliar male – a junior by the looks of him, peered over Danny’s shoulder, giving Jackson a once over that had the male almost preening. He didn’t have to swing for the other team to appreciate the looks men gave him. He was after all, _everybody’s_ type.

“Well, enough of that.” Lydia quipped, pulling her boyfriend along mercilessly toward the stairs. “We have things to do. Movies to ignore. You know the drill.” Jackson would normally be tugging himself out of Lydia’s grip at this point, telling her he could walk fine on his own, but his mind was still half on the article, the copy of which was now folded in his backpack in the Porsche. Still, he’d rather not be castrated just because Lydia didn’t get her way. He could venomously protest all he wanted, but everyone knew he would give in and Lydia would get what she wanted. To this day he still has no idea what would happen if she didn’t get her way. Jackson is pretty sure he doesn’t want to find out.

 

* * *

 

 

“Are you sure this is the right book?” Stiles plucks the ancient tome off the veterinarian’s bookshelf and flips through it frantically. “Damn it. Where’s Lydia when you _really_ need her?!” he whines into the cellphone nestled between his ear and shoulder.

“Wherever she wants to be when she doesn’t want to put up with your mouth, Stilinski.”

Stiles’ head snaps up and his eyes widen comically. The cellphone smacks against the tile floor, but neither pay it any mind. The dumbstruck look on the male’s face earns a snort of amusement from the red head as she stalks forward, taking the book from the boy as he continues to stare at her. Silently she settles herself in one of the flimsy plastic chairs in the vet’s office; somehow, even with the bland décor that she would never approve of in her own humble abode, she manages to look as if she owns the place. She just has that sort of vibe.

Finally, Stiles comes to his senses and snaps his jaw shut, only to start flapping it right away. “And where the hell have you been all month?! Not like we had an emergency or anything! Not like even if there hadn’t been you hadn’t missed the birth of my son or anything! Not like he wasn’t kidnapped and the whole pack has been trying to get him back. _Not like it matters to Lydia-freakin-Martin!._ ”

Lydia sniffs at him, as if she has nothing to say to him. Despite his thunderous look, she doesn’t answer right away, opting to flip through the tome Stiles was perusing moments before.

“Well?!”

“Are you done?”

“That’s not an answer!”

“And this isn’t a rational conversation, either, Stiles. You’re upset, I get it. I left you guys without my protection and it left you wide open for an assault, and that’s exactly what happened. That is of _course_ when Erica went into labor, but I’m not surprised. It’s not like _you_ ever had a knack for good timing. It takes after you already.”

Stiles stares at her mutely. He seems to be calming down with her in-charge attitude that is the only to rival his own. Lydia plays absently with her hair and acts as if she’s ignoring him for the moment. A ruse of course, a wait-it-out fashion she developed when she’d just dumbed down two sides of an argument and was waiting for them to come to their senses and stop. Lydia had that kind of effect on people.

“So, if you’re quite finished. I’ll tell you. I had business elsewhere.”

“’Business elsewhere’?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it?” The incredulous look Stiles gives her couldn’t have been more disbelieving. Almost two months with minimal contact from Lydia, especially silent when they needed her expertise the most and she just waltzes back in and acts as if such a vague answer will be allowed. Stiles is having none of that, but she’s giving him that look again that always made his heart flutter and unable to speak. Infatuation or not, she’ll always have that effect on him.

“It’s not important now. You and I both know that. The important thing is that we find your kid now.” Stiles nods in agreement and Lydia pauses, musing for a moment with a soft smile. “What’d you two name him, anyway? Please don’t tell me you named him after Scott. I know you two were going to make him the godfather and that’s very nice but I will truly rethink my friendship with you if you named your poor kid after that over grown child.”

Stiles has enough in him to grin and put a hand over his chest. “I am offended on Scott’s behalf.” Then he shakes his head. “We didn’t uh. We didn’t name him yet. We were thinking about naming him after Derek’s father but… ” He shrugs a shoulder and Lydia looks at him critically until he continues. “We don’t want to name him proper until we get him back.” He starts to wring his hands nervously, all that hot air and frustration rushing out of him and replacing itself with despair.

Lydia’s critical look becomes even more judgmental. “Honestly Stiles, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this hopeless-looking, and that’s including the time your dad was attacked by that wendigo. Come on. Knock it off before I decide to set your shirt on fire.”

Stiles throws her a look that says he’s not sure if she’s joking or being serious, and decides not to chance it, shuffling over to her and plopping into the seat next to her, pointing out the page bookmarked somewhere in the middle. “Deaton says this might give us an idea of what that witch did. He wouldn’t translate it for me and I don’t speak archaic Latin, that’s sort of your thing, you know?”

“Of course it is. As are many, many other things. Wards, spells, potions, logic and sensibility…” A smile graces her lips and then frowns somewhat. “You _will_ get him back, Stiles. You and Derek know that, right?”

The expression on the young man’s face couldn’t have appeared more guilty if he tried. “Yeah… Of course I know that.” It’s obvious he’s lying, but Lydia doesn’t call him out on it. Instead she settles a single, perfectly manicured hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze, before opting to pinch him.

“That’s for lying to me. You will get him back though. And you and Derek will name him and then live happily ever after as supernatural creature fighting gay-dads.”

The exasperated look on Stiles’ face is enough for Lydia, and she becomes serious, buckling down to translate the tome in front of her. 


	4. Chapter 4

_“Jackson? Hello? Jackson! Don’t pick up your phone and ignore me. That is the worst choice you can make.”_

There’s a pause for silence as Jackson stared stupidly at his cellphone. Lydia was audibly annoyed and made waspish comments in retaliation, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

_“Jackson, if you don’t answer me I’m hanging up on you and not talking to you for a whole –”_

Jackson didn’t hear just how long Lydia planned on ignoring him, because he chose that moment to hang up, tossing his phone onto his bed. He dropped back onto it then and stared up at the ceiling with a glare to melt flesh. He had asked his parents more about the circumstances of his adoption, but both had seemed overly reluctant to indulge him in that kind of information.

He was sixteen! He deserved to know didn’t he? They had no reason to lie to him or keep secrets. Unless there was something they were purposely keeping from him. What did they not want him to know? He knew his parents were killed in a car crash, that his mother was put on life support until he could be delivered. Though that never did make sense – if they were killed, they were dead, and life support wouldn’t have done anything.

Jackson felt his hands ball into fists. It was a pointless trail of thoughts, because he didn’t understand it, and the more he thought on it the more confusing it became. Why would they lie about his parents’ death? No one had any reason to. He already accepted that they were dead and he was adopted… and yet.

And yet what?

Pushing himself into an upright position, Jackson stared at the mirror across from his bed. He couldn’t figure out why this was suddenly so important to him. He had questions that weren’t that important, that his parents wouldn’t answer, that he couldn’t understand. Something was there, buzzing under his skin, a buzzing that he couldn’t shake off. This sudden drive to learn about his roots, that if he told anyone, he was sure they would laugh at him. Lydia would. She’d call him an idiot and to not worry about the past. He wished he could forget it, but it just latched onto him and wouldn’t let go.

He found it hard enough when he considered how they might have been - considering there was very little information on Gordon and Margaret Miller’s lives before the crash. All he knew was that they lived in Beacon Hills. He didn’t know how long, or if they’d gone to school here – did his father play Lacrosse too? Did his mother cheer him on at the sidelines the way Lydia did for Jackson now? Was he team captain? Was she the top of her class? Were they a school power couple? Did they even exist?

It was a fickle, troubling thought that came to him when he thought too long and hard. There was so little on them it was like they _hadn’t_ existed to begin with; a fabrication to hide something else entirely. Jackson grit his teeth and turned to snatch his phone from where he’d tossed it, hitting the redial button. No, he would not give himself over to that. He wouldn’t obsess about his dead parents. He would call Lydia back and invite himself over and forget any of this. Jackson Whittemore was captain of the swim and lacrosse team. He was the school’s star player; he had a hot girlfriend, a genius hacker for a best friend. He was perfect, and dead parents were _not_ going to haunt him.

 

* * *

 

“Time travel? You’re saying … _time travel_? Is that even possible?”

Lydia levels the male with an incredulous look that could only mean ‘you’re stupid and I detest your lowered IQ in my presence.’ Stiles shuts up instantly and she gives a sour smile of victory, turning the page of the tome absently

“You of all people should be able to grasp the concept, Stiles.” She tells him coolly, her eyes dropping down to the book once more. “After all, _werewolves_ shouldn’t be possible.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

The pained look on his face is enough to make her take just the slightest pity on him, but no one has to know she considered said pity because Derek and Scott choose that moment to make an appearance. About time too, since she called them both half an hour ago. Scott gravitates to Stiles’ side, and Derek looks like he’s about to follow, before falling back against the wall at her other side.

There’s a suspicious lack of four certain betas, but Lydia couldn’t care less. Whiskey eyes that Lydia can appreciate on a good day glance in Derek’s direction and then back to her. There’s an unreadable expression on his face that she can’t identify and for a moment it irritates her. She very nearly says something before Derek speaks up.

“What did you find?”

Lydia looks from him to Scott, who’s staring at a fixed point on Stiles’ shoulder. Scott and his hero-complex. She wouldn’t be surprised if he was blaming _himself_ for the infant’s abduction. She is surrounded by morons. She sniffs quietly and answers the question Derek asked of her. “It’s time travel, which is a powerful kind of magic. Definitely an uncommon one, and _definitely_ not amateur work. We’re dealing with a serious… well I wouldn’t call it a spell exactly. It’s not like it can be broken and this whole thing reverse.”

Stiles makes a choked sound that implies he still doesn’t want to believe it. Derek gives him a concerned look, but settles back again when Scott puts his arm around his friend. The werewolf peers at her, those chocolate brown eyes of his wide with worry for the other man. “Does that mean its … permanent? They’re not getting their kid back..?”

“It is magic Scott. It’s not rocket science – and even if it was, I could still help.” She throws a look at Derek, as if challenging him to tell her otherwise. When he doesn’t, Lydia looks proud of herself and turns back to the book, tapping the page. “This has a chapter on the mechanics of it, so at the very least we can decipher just what happened and how. Then we’ll go from there.”

A glance at Stiles as she says this makes the woman’s stomach churn. He just looks so beaten down, in a way she hasn’t seen since Gerard Argent used him as a punching bag. She lets out a huff and puts her arm around Stiles as well, sandwiching him between herself and Scott. The poor guy is falling apart at the seams, even if everyone else is too blind to see that. Derek is too, now that she thinks about it, but he’s always been a hot mess and everyone overlooked it out of habit.

Losing their kid has really done a number on the couple; that much is obvious. Lydia hates seeing them this down trodden, and she’s sure the rest of Derek’s pack does too, even if they’re too emotionally constipated – or terrified of the Alpha – to admit that. She silently vows to herself that she’s going to do everything in her power to get the infant back. She can practically feel her brain begin to whirr as she starts formulating a plan.

“I know that look.” Stiles pipes up suddenly, drawing Lydia from her thoughts. “You had that same look on your face when you decided to brew that Molotov in Harris’ classroom Sophomore year. …what are you planning?”

Three pairs of eyes find Lydia and stare, and for a moment she preens in the attention. The audience sees only her, and she makes a show of smiling, slowly, deviously. The Cheshire cat would be proud.

“Oh, just to send someone back in time.”


End file.
